Hindsight (9781921997211)

by Casey, Melanie

  It had been a tedious and fruitless task; a complete long shot. Sorenson would never have allowed them to do it on work time. Nothing suggested a serial killer. Missing persons who turned up dead were usually killed by someone they knew.

  ‘I didn’t find anything. It was Cass. She came in here while I was on the phone. She reckons these four all have the same green eyes.’

  ‘Green eyes? What’s so special about green eyes?’

  ‘All four have very intense green eyes. I should know, it was one of the things I loved the most.’ The words stuck in his throat as a vivid image of Susan, eyes shining, flashed through his mind.

  Phil came up next to him. She took the photo of Susan from him and studied the four women.

  ‘The eyes are the same, but the type of woman is totally different. Serial psychos normally have a particular type.’

  ‘Yeah, normally.’

  ‘So she’s suggesting that not only do we have a serial killer but we have one that doesn’t go for a particular type of woman, just women with green eyes?’

  ‘She didn’t suggest anything. She just put them together and told me they all had the same eyes. I bit her head off before she had a chance to say anything much.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess we both gave her a hard time, but honestly, if I never saw her again that would be too soon. I just want to get on with the job without some weird freakin’ psychic medium tagging along.’

  ‘She’s not a medium,’ Ed corrected her.

  ‘Whatever, anyway, now that I’ve found you and you haven’t chucked yourself under the nearest bus, Grace is insisting that you come for dinner tonight.’

  ‘The boss has spoken, hey?’

  ‘You know it and I know it.’

  Ed laughed in spite of himself. He really didn’t feel like company but if he declined the offer Phil would get her head chewed off and Ed would never hear the end of it. Besides he knew what he’d end up doing if he didn’t go. The bottle of single malt in the cupboard was calling him. If he stayed home he would end up at the bottom of it.

  ‘So … do you feel up to heading back to work or not?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess. If I stay here I’ll just spend the day feeling sorry for myself. I suppose everyone knows?’

  ‘Nah, Sorenson and I kept a tight lid on it. The others think you’re out investigating a lead. You won’t have to face the Spanish Inquisition when you get back.’

  ‘Thank God.’

  ‘The CS clowns have requested a meeting this afternoon. Not sure what they have.’

  ‘Something implicating Janet’s former in-laws?’

  ‘Stranger things have happened.’

  ‘I’ll grab my coat and keys.’

  As Ed headed for the kitchen, Phil’s mobile chimed with a text message. Ed’s followed a few seconds later.

  ‘It’s Sorenson,’ Phil called out. ‘Something’s up. Will you ring in or will I?’

  ‘I will.’ He hit the speed dial and waited for a connection. ‘It’s Ed.’

  ‘Hi, how’re you doing?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure? If you need to take some time then I can bring someone in from Noarlunga to cover for you.’

  ‘No, really, I’m fine. So what’s the story?’

  ‘A body’s been found on the side of South Road in a ditch. A cyclist found it. It looks like it’s Old Mick.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s him?’

  ‘Sergeant Johnston from Jewel Bay got the call and he was the first on the scene. He reckons the body’s in a bad way but he’s pretty sure it’s him.’

  ‘Any idea what killed him?’

  ‘Yep, looks like he was hit by a truck.’

  Flashing lights indicated the traffic diversion, blocking off the southbound lanes. Cars were filing past at a slow crawl, the faces of the drivers and passengers automatically turning to see what was happening.

  Ed and Phil pulled up then climbed out and walked over to Sergeant Johnston and Constable Forsyth.

  ‘Reg, Alex.’ Phil nodded at them. ‘Not often that we have the pleasure twice in one week.’

  ‘Trust me, this is no pleasure. He’s over there.’ Reg pointed to the tent that was set up to shield the scene from the eyes of passing motorists.

  Ed and Phil walked over and stepped inside to look at the remains. They both looked a bit grey when they returned to talk to the two uniformed officers.

  ‘What makes you think it’s Mick? There’s nothing left of the face,’ Ed asked.

  Forsyth jumped in, eager to contribute. ‘The age, build and type of dress all fit. The coat and hat are similar to the ones that Mick is always seen in.’

  ‘What do you think happened?’ Phil asked.

  The young man looked confused. ‘He was hit by a truck, ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that. What I mean is, how do you think it happened?’

  ‘Oh, um …’

  ‘Reg?’ she asked, not in the mood to be patient.

  ‘It looks like he might have stepped out in front of the vehicle. He was a hopeless alcoholic so there’s a good chance he was drunk at the time.’

  ‘Where’s Sonya?’ Ed asked.

  ‘She’s on her way.’

  ‘Guess we’ll know more once she’s had a look.’

  ‘I can’t see how it could be anything except an accidental death,’ Phil said. ‘We never identified him as the witness in the news broadcasts.’

  ‘Unless someone let the cat out of the bag.’ Ed said it casually but there was a question under the surface.

  Reg bristled. ‘Not me, I didn’t say a word to anyone. I looked for him around his usual haunts and asked a couple of people if they’d seen him but I didn’t mention that it was in relation to the murder. I wouldn’t be so daft.’

  They all turned and looked at Alex, who’d gone white and was shuffling his feet.

  ‘Did you tell anyone, son?’ Reg asked. ‘Come on, speak up.’

  ‘Um, I’m sorry, sir. I did tell Mrs McCredie I thought it was Old Mick that’d phoned it in and asked her to let me know if he showed up. She always gives him a free feed if he’s in town.’

  ‘Christ,’ Phil muttered.

  ‘Mrs McCredie? Who’s she?’ Ed asked.

  ‘She owns the café on Main Street,’ Reg said. ‘She’s got a mouth the size of the Titanic.’

  ‘Ah, yes, she’s the woman who was asking us questions over lunch yesterday, Phil. She’s probably told every second person who’s been into her place about Old Mick.’ Ed glared at the young officer.

  ‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t think. I just thought she might be able to help us find him,’ he stammered.

  ‘No, you didn’t think did you?’ Phil snarled.

  ‘There’s nothing to be done about it now,’ Ed said. ‘What’s done is done. The important thing is to try to work out exactly what happened here.’

  ‘I never did like coincidences,’ Phil said. ‘We’ll just have to wait until Sonya has a look at him. We’ll know more then. Either way, we’ve just lost our only witness.’

  ‘Yes, whoever killed Janet Hodgson is either very clever or very lucky,’ Ed said.

  ‘Let’s head back. We need to get our shit together before the CS boys lob on our doorstep,’ Phil said.

  Back at the station, Senior Constable Samuels was chafing at the bit. ‘CS guys are in Interview Room 2. They didn’t look too pleased about having to wait.’

  ‘Well, next time we’ll just ask the victim to hold off being killed until it’s more convenient, shall we?’ Phil asked, giving Samuels a look that wiped the smirk off his face.

  ‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.’

  ‘If only we could,’ Ed muttered as they walked down the corridor and into the interview room.

  Rawlinson was seated at
the table reading through some papers. Byrnes was pacing backwards and forwards. He looked up as they walked in.

  ‘Have a seat.’ He waved at the chairs on the other side of the table. Ed and Phil walked around and sat down. ‘You’re late. Our meeting was scheduled for 2 PM.’

  Ed saw the blood suffusing Phil’s neck and face, making her look like a beetroot with ginger fluff on top. He jumped in before she could say anything.

  ‘We had to see about a road fatality —’

  ‘Surely someone else could have handled that?’ Byrnes interrupted.

  Ed took a breath. ‘If you’d just let me finish? It looks like the victim was Old Mick.’ Seeing their blank looks, he went on: ‘You know, the probable witness to Janet Hodgson’s death.’

  ‘The homeless, unreliable witness who might have seen the killer through his drunken haze?’

  ‘It was the best lead we had,’ Phil muttered.

  ‘Well it’s just as well we have something more promising then isn’t it?’ Byrnes beamed. ‘Fill them in, John.’

  Rawlinson stood up and handed them each a sheet of paper with a mug shot of a man, probably in his late fifties. He had a sallow, olive complexion and his face was sullen and pock-marked. His long, greasy hair was tied back in a ponytail.

  ‘That is Joseph Liberetti, hired gun. Lives in South Australia, supposedly retired here to be close to his grandkids. We believe he’s responsible for at least eight hits, all eastern seaboard, but we haven’t been able to pin any of them on him to date. Our sources tell us that he was hired to track down and kill Janet-slash-Alicia. He has no alibi for the time that she was killed and best of all —’ he produced another piece of paper with a flourish, ‘— we have him filling up his white van with petrol in Reynella on the day she was killed. That’s pretty close.’

  ‘That’s not enough for a conviction,’ Ed said.

  ‘No, of course not, but it’s enough to pull him in for questioning and with a bit of luck we might be able to convince a magistrate to give us a search warrant for his van and his house. We’ve had him under surveillance since our intelligence came in. We’re just waiting for the nod from up above to move in and arrest him,’ Byrnes said.

  ‘But why would he knock her out and leave her there to collect later? That’s not the sort of thing those guys do,’ Ed said.

  ‘We think he must have been told to find out what she knew before he killed her,’ Byrnes said.

  ‘What, you think he planned to take her somewhere and torture her for information?’ Ed asked, shooting Phil a look of disbelief.

  Rawlinson looked at him coolly before answering. ‘Yes, something like that.’

  ‘Jesus, this is Australia we’re talking about, not downtown Chicago,’ Phil said.

  ‘We wouldn’t expect you to come across this sort of thing too often but with the cases we work it’s not unheard of, especially when drug families are involved,’ Byrnes said.

  ‘If you say so.’ Phil shrugged.

  ‘We do, and given this development, we spoke to Detective Chief Inspector Sorenson when we arrived. The link to organised crime makes it a Tier 3 case and she’s agreed to our taking full responsibility for the remainder of the investigation.’

  ‘Now, hang on a minute —’ Phil stood up, scraping her chair back.

  ‘You’re off the case. Speak to your boss if you have an issue with it,’ Rawlinson said, looking pleased with himself.

  ‘You —’

  ‘Leave it, Phil,’ Ed interrupted before Phil said or did something she might have to apologise for later. He stood up and started to move out of the room. He paused with his hand on the door knob.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where your boy was last night do you?’ he asked, looking at Rawlinson.

  ‘As a matter of fact we do,’ he said, ruffling through some papers. He shot Byrnes a quick look and received an almost imperceptible nod to go ahead.

  ‘Surveillance had him at the casino last night and then in a city hotel with a couple of hookers afterwards. Must’ve been a lucky night on the tables.’

  ‘So there’s no way he could have been involved in Old Mick’s death then?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Surely you don’t think his death is related? He was a drunk. He probably just staggered out in front of the truck and never knew what hit him.’

  ‘Yes, more than likely, but we need to be thorough.’ Ed gritted his teeth and smiled at them, mustering all his willpower to stay civil.

  ‘There’s no way it’s related to the Hodgson case. If it was Liberetti who killed her he was a very busy boy last night,’ Rawlinson said.

  ‘Good luck with the case boys.’ Ed propelled Phil out the door, feeling the hostility emanating from her.

  They walked back to their desks. Phil barely made it before she exploded.

  ‘I can’t believe those fucking wankers have just waltzed in here and taken the case off us without even having the courtesy to let us know first. Jesus they’re a couple of arrogant pricks.’ She thumped the desk for emphasis.

  Everyone else in the room stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Samuels had a grin on his face, clearly enjoying the show. Ed grabbed Phil’s arm again.

  ‘Come on, let’s go get a coffee.’

  By the time they got to Enzo’s, her colour was back to normal and she’d stopped huffing. Ed ordered them both double shot flat whites and they sat down at their usual table, tucked into a corner away from the handful of other patrons sitting near the windows. The barista knew them well and they had their coffees within a couple of minutes.

  ‘There you go; I was beginning to think I wasn’t going to see you today. Hard day?’

  ‘Yeah, not a good one, Steve,’ Phil answered. ‘Thanks.’

  They sipped in silence. It was Ed who finally spoke.

  ‘You were right. It’s too much of a coincidence for Mick to turn up dead just after he witnessed a murder.’

  ‘Do you think whoever had Janet killed sent someone else to kill Mick?’

  ‘Why spend the time and effort getting rid of a witness that one of their high-class lawyers could discredit in five minutes?’

  ‘So what, then? You think someone else killed both of them?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll reserve judgement until we hear from Sonya.’

  ‘I doubt she’ll have anything for us today.’

  ‘Yeah, but there’s something else I want to ask her.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What colour eyes Janet Hodgson had.’

  CHAPTER

  12

  I drove out of Fairfield and away from Ed Dyson’s house in a daze. To say that I felt like a failure would be an understatement. Phil’s scorn didn’t really bother me. I didn’t really expect anything else from her. She’d taken a dislike to me from the moment we met. I’d been hoping for more from Ed though.

  Instead of being grateful for my help he thought I was some kind of freaky stalker. He thought I’d come to the police station and offered to help on the Janet Hodgson case with the express purpose of getting up close and personal with him. The uncomfortable thing was that he was sort of right. I had asked Sorenson if I could work with him.

  Then there was the whiteboard. It hadn’t even occurred to me that one of them was his wife. How stupid am I? Why else would he have set up a whiteboard with all the women that had gone missing in the last ten years? He was looking for links and hoping there might be something that would help him to find her. He’d probably been staring at it night after night for the last two years and there I went, waltzing in and telling him that four of the women had the same eyes. No wonder he’d snapped.

  I was so busy beating myself about the head that I wasn’t focusing on where I was going. I was almost at the turn-off for our house. I needed to decide whether to go home or head into town and hide out for a while. If I went
home I would have to ’fess up. Mum and Gran would know that something was wrong; they wouldn’t expect me until dinnertime and it was barely midday.

  I decided to seek the refuge of the library. I parked the car on Main Street, making a complete dog’s breakfast of reverse parking. I got out of the car, bracing myself for the inevitable encounter with Mrs Jones. Sure enough, she was at her usual post, ever vigilant, glasses perched on the tip of her nose so she could peer over the top of them with just the right note of disapproval.

  ‘Cassandra, twice in one week after such a long absence, what a surprise.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Jones. Yes, I enjoyed doing my research here the other day. I thought I would repeat the experience.’ I forced a smile, battling to be polite and not tell her to mind her own bloody business.

  ‘Will your mother be stopping in again too?’

  The question seemed innocent enough, but as was always the way with her there was a criticism as well. What she really meant was would my mother be coming in and would we be loud and thoughtless again. My smile started to feel like it might crack at any second.

  ‘No, I’m here by myself today, Mum stayed at home.’

  ‘Ah, well, you enjoy your quiet time then.’

  I headed for the computers and local history files. I wanted to sit and think for a while. My plans from earlier in the week to map out safe routes in Fairfield and other neighbouring towns seemed pointless if there was nothing meaningful I could do with my talent.

  What I really wanted was to replay that morning’s dreadful conversation. I thought about Ed’s reaction to my offer to help with his wife’s disappearance and death. I got the impression he was pretty angry with himself as well. It must have been hell to be a detective used to solving crimes yet be unable to solve the one that was most important to him. I’d borne the brunt of two years’ frustration.

  I tapped into one of the computer terminals and typed in Fairfield police officer, wife missing. I got a whole bunch of hits straight away. One of the first ones I clicked on was an article from the Adelaide Advertiser. It had a large picture of Susan next to the article.